


Away, Faraway

by IdrisSmith



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4476947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrisSmith/pseuds/IdrisSmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper would always love Sherlock Holmes, but, she knew she had to move on. So, she did, she moved on. And she learned to be happy with someone who loved her perhaps more than she could ever love anyone back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Move On, Move On

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this --
> 
> http://all-oftimenspace.tumblr.com/post/124420444449/likingthistoomuch-the-sapphiresky-sherlock

Molly Hooper was in love with Sherlock Holmes.

That was the fact that was so apparent even when the world tilted on its axis, it would not change. Molly Hooper was in love with Sherlock Holmes and there was not a thing that she could do about it. She loved him from the moment she saw him. He was like a bright light to her darkness, ironic, considering the fact that others believed it would be quite the opposite. No, he changed her life for the better.

He made her stronger. He was the first person who did not doubt her choice of profession because of her gender. He did not see her as weak. And if ever he had belittled her, it was never of her work or her abilities. Sherlock Holmes never used pretty words, but, she knew he was good. Or was it because she wanted to believe that he was good?

She wasn’t sure, not anymore. As the years passed and one birthday after another came knocking, she began to realize – as much as she loved Sherlock Holmes, he would never love her back. No, he would never be able to. Not because he was in love with John Watson because, he wasn’t. John was his best friend and anyone who knew better should know Sherlock’s affection had never gone beyond that.

No, she knew because Sherlock, for all his intelligence, would never be able to figure out what love was. Why? Because love cannot be decipher with one’s mind. It was something that heart had always ruled over. It was a secret he would never be able to figure out.

And she decided, in that moment. She loved him, but, she cannot, for her own good, kept waiting for him.

His name was Adam. He was a paramedic, normal, no criminal record (Greg ran it behind her back), no child support to pay, no crazy ex or exes, no parents (they died when he was in University) and no fear of saying how he truly felt about her. He asked her out right off the bat. Their first date was at the small restaurant that looked like a hole in the wall. He made he laugh and he walked her home. He leaned only to kiss her on the cheek and bid her goodbye.

She met his friends on their second date – rather, they ran into his friend. She found herself laughing at his embarrassing stories. She learned about that incident during his first year at University when he was caught with his pants down, drunk as a log. His face reddened, not out of anger, but, out of mortification. 

Then she met his older sister over Christmas. His niece and nephews and shared a laugh. It was the first Christmas she had ever taken the day off – the week off. She never did before and for the first time, she felt like she could be happy.

And thoughts of Sherlock did not haunt her.

She realized, soon enough. She loved him. She loved the silly man named Adam who’d bring her coffee in the morning and rub her foot at night. She loved laughing with him, dreaming with him and lying in bed with him. He wasn’t fazed by her choice of career, in fact, he encouraged her. He would even make her tea or coffee when a particular paper kept her awake well into the night.

He was busy, but, he always had time for her.

And John liked her, Greg begrudgingly tolerated the man and even Meena was fawning over the perfect man. 

Still, he wasn’t perfect, he was human after all. He would leave the cap of the toothpaste off; he would mix his coloured shirts with whites during laundry day, one of which turned all Molly’s whites purple – she decided she hated purple since then. He also didn’t mind wearing socks with holes in them or his worn out University t-shirts.

He was not Sherlock Holmes. 

But, she was happy. Molly Hooper was happy. She was laughing a little more. She was making jokes a bit more. Even Mrs Hudson commented she had gotten livelier. She wasn’t as timid as she used to be. She became stronger; she began to love herself even more with Adam by her side.

“Alright, what is it with this Sherlock guy that you’re so worried about me meeting him?” Adam had asked one morning.

The annual Christmas party at Baker Street had resumed ever since Sherlock’s return four years ago and the only time Molly had missed it was the year before when she chose to spend it with Adam’s family.

“Nothing,” She replied hastily, tossing a couple of shirts into the wash.

“Molly,” He said, gently pulling her to face him, “Tell me,”

She sighed, “You’d hate me,”

“I won’t, it’s not like you were in love with the guy - ” Adam rattled on before realizing the obvious, “Oh...”

“Still is, to an extent,” Molly admitted, feeling guilty.

Adam nodded, “One question then,” 

Molly looked up at the face of the man she had shared her life with for the better part of eighteen months. He was the stark contrast of Sherlock Holmes. He was handsome, true, but, completely different. He had a softer look, kinder eyes which were green and lighter shade of brown hair. He was tall, around the same height as Sherlock, but, not imposing. And now, he looked vulnerable.

“Do you mean it when you said you love me?” He asked.

She gasped, surprised, “Of course!”

A smile spread on his face, “Okay, that’s good enough for me,” 

“Adam,” Molly said, circling her arms around his waist and pulling him to her, “Why do you have to be so good to me?”

He chuckled, resting his chin on her head, “Easy, I love you and I want you to be happy,”

“I don’t deserve you,” She mumbled.

He pulled away, looking at Molly intently. 

“Don’t ever say that,” His tone was harsh, clearly offended by her words, “Don’t ever say that ever again,”

“I - ” Molly started, but, Adam shook his head.

“I would never be able to compete with Sherlock Holmes, his reputation is enough to tell me that,” He said, sincerely, “But, I would do everything in my power to make you happy, Molly,”

“He’d deduce you and you’d run,” She voiced out her worries for the first time. She was terrified to the point of breathless that Sherlock would chase Adam away. He was good, the very reason why she could slowly let the consulting detective go.

Adam exhaled, pulling Molly back to him, “Oh ye have little faith,” he said jokingly.

“It’s not a joke, he has this ability to chase anyone away, ask John,” She said, worry was still heavy in her voice.

“Molly, last I checked, John is still married to Mary,” He said pointedly, remembering the kind doctor with his wife – Mary Watson. He had even had the pleasure of babysitting their child with Molly when the two was in need of some alone time. Adam didn’t mind much, he was used to having his niece and nephews around.

Molly chuckled, “Are you saying you’d be my Mary?”

“Yes, but, you’d still need to say yes to my proposal though,” He said easily.

“P-proposal?” Molly stuttered.

He sighed, pulling away again, saying, “Give me a minute,” before disappearing only to return moments later with a small box in his hand.

Molly gasped.

“I did plan on something grand, but, our last five dates had been interrupted by work commitments,” He admitted, “So, I hope you don’t mind this,”

He was on his knee and Molly had her palms clasped over her mouth, clearly not counting on this ever happening. Rather, too fearful to hope for it. Her previous engagement ended because she couldn’t get over Sherlock Holmes. But, the man kneeling before her clearly knew at least part of her heart still belonged to Sherlock Holmes. And he still wanted to marry her, even with only a small space for him in her heart.

“Molly Anne Hooper, will you marry me?” He asked her, clear, no signs of hesitation. He was certain of what he wanted in life – that was who Adam was.

\--

“I still don’t understand why it is necessary to hold this party at my house,” Sherlock complained to Molly as he picked up his violin.

Yet, she couldn’t detect any sign of resentment in his voice, he sounded almost fond in fact.

A smile touched her lips, “Because we love you and you allow it because you love us,”

He scoffed, the usual irritation he would wear when someone pointed his affection towards every single person in the room was apparent on his face. Still, Molly knew better. Sherlock Holmes wore his haughtiness like a mask, it had kept him safe all his life and he would not likely shake it off.

“Where is this Andrew you want me to meet?” He changed the subject, irritatedly plucking the strings of his violin.

“Adam,” Molly corrected him, “He’s coming as soon as his shift end,” 

Sherlock was about to say something back when the room was suddenly livelier with John up on his feet greeting a newcomer. 

And Molly’s face lit up at the sight of the brunette making his way to her.

“Hi, sorry I’m late,” He said quickly, planting a quick kiss on her lips before turning to Sherlock who was eyeing him with interest.

“It’s fine,” Molly replied, “Adam, this is Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is Adam Pullman, my fiancé,” 

The introduction was swift. Sherlock didn’t miss a beat as he accepted Adam’s hand for a handshake. Not even a word was uttered, even when his eyes studied the man intently.

“Fiancé?” Mary was squealing from Molly’s left and the room quickly joined in on the excitement.

“Yes, fairly new,” Molly replied happily.

“Ring, I need to see the ring,” Mary was the happiest, barreling her way to grab Molly’s hand only to find it empty of rings.

Molly chuckled and pulled out the chain around her neck, revealing the ring hanging from it, “Had to take it off earlier, autopsy.” 

Mary was animated, further made worse when Mrs Hudson joined her. John had a glimpse of the ring before merrily congratulating the couple. Greg was too drunk to form a coherent sentence.

\--

“Another attempt at domestic?” Sherlock asked when he was left alone with Molly. 

The party had died down approximately an hour ago with everyone either too drunk (Greg and Mrs Hudson) or too tired (John, Mary and baby Elizabeth) to continue on. Greg had claimed the floor somewhere near the kitchen and Sherlock had made no move to wake the detective inspector while Mrs Hudson had sauntered back to her own flat. Mary was fussing over Elizabeth while John and Adam were getting the coats sorted out.

“No, not an attempt,” Molly smiled at Sherlock.

He looked at her, confused for a moment.

“I’m certain about Adam, more certain than I have ever been in my life,” She explained, “The wedding is in March, and I really hope you could be there,” 

He blinked, still not a word.

She took a step towards him, standing on her tiptoes and then kissed him ever so lightly on his cheek that knocked the breath out of him. He was stunned.

She was certain, she was sure. She was smiling and he realized the smiles were no longer his. She took a step back and then another, “I’ll see you after the holidays, Sherlock,”

And she turned. He noted her brightest smile, the brightest he had ever seen and it was for someone else. He watched as Adam wrapped Molly’s coat around her and still frozen where he was standing as he watched them – her walk away. Even when Mary, John and baby Elizabeth bid their hasty goodbye, he didn’t move.

Only after the house was quiet with nothing but the sound of Greg’s loud snores did he fell back into his chair, clutching his heart, blinking.

Ah... So, that was what a broken heart felt like. 

And yet, he didn’t run after her for he knew, she deserved the best and the best was never him.


	2. A Hold Over Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock kept his distance from Molly after the Christmas party. The days went by and days turned into weeks, and weeks turned to months. Her wedding date approached and he was making more excuses not to see her. He can’t, because if he ever saw her, all his resolves would turn to dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't sleep. I couldn't think of anything beyond how the damn story ended and I just had to write this. The last installment will be posted tomorrow. In the meantime, don't kill me.

Winter was colder than it had ever been for Sherlock. He had spent most days locked inside his flat, playing endless violin solos that were pushing Mrs Hudson over the edge ever so often that she decided to get ear plugs. She adored him, of course she did, he was like a son she never had (and right then a son she wished she never had), but, she could only take so much. Greg had been summoned on a daily basis to take the consulting detective’s mind off of things. Some days, the detective inspector did manage to drag the now haggard looking Sherlock out of the flat, some days, he doesn’t.

John had even made his worry quite obvious, even Mary was starting to be concerned to a point dropping off at Baker Street every couple of days to make sure that Sherlock was still breathing. He said he was fine, nothing to it – he was not on drugs and for the first time, John actually believed it.

Because Sherlock looked nothing like a man under the influence, he looked like a man nursing a broken heart and that left the doctor baffled. No one understood the source; no one even noticed that he had been avoiding St Bart’s. Then again, he never had an excuse to be at the morgue, no cases had been that interesting to get him to travel to the place.

“You look positively pathetic,” Mycroft’s voice was like a cold shower, startling Sherlock.

He stirred, looking up at his older brother who had made himself at home, claiming the chair that was positioned to face the couch where Sherlock was sitting. He cursed himself, not hearing Mycroft coming in, then again, he wouldn’t have heard if Mrs Hudson have came up with tea even when she was always loud.

“It is none of your concern however I look,” Sherlock spat back, turning back to face the wall. He pulled the blanket closer to his body, forming a cocoon, as if it would keep him safe.

“Ah, but it is, Mummy had received a call from Mrs Hudson and is anxious to come here, I’ve only managed to keep her at bay for the time being with the promise that I would check on you,” Mycroft said, indifferent.

Sherlock detected a slight concerned in Mycroft’s usually cold tone. Well then, he must have looked terrible enough for even his older brother to worry over him. Not that Mycroft never worry, he just never externalized his concerns, just his exasperation.

“Tell her I am perfectly fine and not to come,” He replied, not even bothered to face Mycroft, his face buried in the depth of the cushions.

Mycroft sighed, irritated, “Stop being a child William,” 

Sherlock shuffled around in the thin blanket, angry, “I am not being childish!”

“You are, you’re mopping around,” Mycroft countered, “I have told you before, caring is not an advantage,” 

“What do you know?” Sherlock spat, he had turned, glaring at his brother “You have never cared for anyone in your life!”

“I do,” The elder brother shouted back, “I care for you, don’t I?”

They both froze. None of them had ever spoken of their affection towards each other. Mycroft was the cold and calculative older brother and Sherlock was always the younger brother who had tried all his life to be just like his big brother. They do care for one another. The length they would go to protect one another, only they could understand their own brand of affection.

“Well, you can stop now,” Sherlock replied, uncomfortable.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft’s words were at the edge of his teeth, “You are an adult, and you should understand the basic of things by now. She cannot wait for you forever,”

Sherlock buried his face into his palm, “I know,” 

“Say the word,” Mycroft was pained to see his younger brother broken. If it was drugs, he could fix it. If it was anything at all – a lunatic, a murderer, anything, he could fix it. But, how does he fix a broken heart?

“No,” Sherlock shook his head, “I want her to be happy,”

“At the expanse of your own happiness?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock answered with a nod.

“Will you start taking cases again and actually make an effort not to worry everyone?” Mycroft asked, bracing himself for the worse.

Again, Sherlock nodded, “If I must,”

“You must,” 

\--

“Nice to see you, freak,” Sally Donovan greeted Sherlock when she spotted him walking towards the crime scene. She pulled the tape high, enough for him to duck under the yellow line.

“Thank you, Sally,” He said easily before making a beeline at the corpse.

They had an understanding, Sherlock and Sally. She would pretend not to like him and glad he was back, and he would keep his deductions of her to the bare minimum. Saved that one time when he told her the guy she was sleeping with was no better than Anderson. She broke it off with the man and thanked Sherlock with a coffee which she didn’t spit it.

“This is not even a four,” Sally could hear Sherlock whined at Greg.

“I know, but, it’s good publicity,” Greg replied rubbing the back of his neck uneasily. Clearly Sherlock was not informed his presence would be used to help the Yard improve its image.

Still, Sherlock had only shrugged instead of throwing tantrums and said, “Of course, how long do you need me here for?”

“Another five minutes would do,” Greg replied, not surprised but, wary.

“Noted,”

\--

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” John asked for the nth time, looking at Sherlock, wondering whether he really should trust the man.

“Please John, I took down criminal masterminds and topple governments, I think I can babysit Elizabeth for a couple of hours,” Sherlock said boringly at his friend, but, his expression soon changed at the sight of giggling Elizabeth and started to make faces at the child.

Mary, to her credit, was trusting Sherlock more than John did, “He’ll be fine and he has our mobile numbers and the restaurant’s number,”

“Sherlock, remember, Elizabeth is not to be experimented on,” John said, still worrying as Mary pushed him towards the door.

Mary shook her head, wondering how John still did not trust his best friend with a child even when Elizabeth had been left in Sherlock’s care far too often to be considered good for her health.

“I mean it!” John yelled as the door closed behind him.

Sherlock sighed, looking at the three year old, “You father is such a worrywart, Elizabeth,”

And Elizabeth started to giggle, as if understanding every word Sherlock was saying. Maybe she did, Sherlock wouldn’t put it past the toddler. She was, after all, the daughter of an army doctor and former assassin. 

\--

He stared at the card in his hand. Molly’s name was written in a beautiful calligraphy that he was sure was not picked out by her. It seemed so odd to see her name written in the type of font that was too willowy to explain her. She was something else, strong, a force to be reckoned with, she was not what this font. If he had to pick anything, he would have picked something classier for her.

“So, you got the card, eh?” Greg walked in at the most unfortunate time.

Sherlock threw the card carelessly onto the table before turning to the detective inspector. His mask was back on, his indifference was his shield, but, he could tell he was no longer fooling the older man.

“What brings you here today, George,” He said boringly, purposely calling him with a different name.

“It’s Greg and you know that, you tit,” Greg replied easily, claiming a seat nearest to the chair Sherlock was sitting in, “There’s a case in Newcastle, if you fancy a bit of an out of town trip,”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, “You do not consult the Newcastle police, Graham,”

“An old friend called in a favour,” Greg replied, knowing Sherlock would see through him.

“A former fling, fifteen years younger, of course,” Sherlock said easily, and Greg laughed, used to the deductions by now.

“Thirteen, actually,” He corrected the consulting detective.

“My bad,” Sherlock said boringly.

“Mysterious deaths, are you in or out?” Greg was just glad that Sherlock missed the fact that he had been purposely accepting favours from his friends in the force all over the country to keep Sherlock occupied.

“Tell me more,”

\--

Three weeks, five days, six hours, twelve minutes and nine seconds. He counted the ticking clock down to the second. The seconds that ticked away between now and the days to come where she will be married to someone else. Someone who was not him, someone who she well deserved and he knew, begrudgingly, love her as much as a man possibly could.

He kept busy and it was easy to do so as well. Between Greg, John and his brother, Sherlock was never bored. That was until he was left alone at night, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom and his thoughts would drift to her.

The first time they met she had her hair up in a ponytail and her lips was painted a soft shade of pink. She had smiled at him, timid, unsure – but, he knew her enough to know she was capable. She was introduced to him and all he could think about back then was to kiss her senseless. He had hated lipsticks ever since.

“It’s only a five, I think, but Glasgow’s wondering if you’d come,” Greg sighed, handing Sherlock a file.

What started as a way to take Sherlock’s mind off of things (namely one Molly Hooper) and blown out of proportion. Sherlock had worked endlessly. He had taken one case after another, even taking long flights to get there. It was worrying and his drastic weight loss didn’t go unnoticed by his friends.

“Since you’re here, how about lunch?” Greg tried, knowing very well Sherlock would just sauntered away, refusing his offer, “My treat,”

Sherlock thumbed the file idly, reading the case in passing to get the general idea before he could dive into it. Greg was right, it was a five at most, but, Sherlock had to get out of town. He didn’t want to run into her, he didn’t want to see her or else his resolve would shatter.

“No, thank you,” Sherlock said, up on his feet, tucking the file under his armpit and grabbing his belstaff, “I better get going,”

Lunch with Greg meaning somewhere nearby and chances of running into one Molly Hooper would be great. He knew well enough that Greg would stage a meeting and even when he knew the man meant well, he resented the effort. He was fine, he kept telling himself.

\--

“Do you have a date to the wedding?” Mary asked, munching on her lunch.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, stabbing his food, irritated that he had been bested by the former assassin and was forced to eat lunch with her. She had even made a habit out of it, every couple of days at most, she would drag him out to lunch with baby Elizabeth in tow. She was her weapon; Mary knew Sherlock was weak when it came to his goddaughter.

“Mrs Hudson recently broke up with the greengrocer down the street, I suppose it would be my duty to accompany her,” Sherlock replied boringly.

Mary sighed, shaking her head, “Really?”

“There is nothing wrong with me accompanying Mrs Hudson to the wedding, Mary,” He stated, trying to push the plate away, but, Mary had pushed it back to him.

“I didn’t say it was,” She said, “I am just wondering whether it would be better for you to show up with someone else,”

“Like who?” He shoved a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth.

“Like someone who you’d actually shag,” Mary said bluntly.

“Mary!” Sherlock exclaimed, “Not in front of Elizabeth,”

“Please, she’s a child and far to content with her blocks to care,” Mary replied pointedly. And she was right; Elizabeth looked up cheerfully, holding out a block with the letter ‘M’ on it and handing it to Sherlock.

“Mowwy!” Elizabeth exclaimed happily. 

\--

Being away from London was liberating, even when the case offered him no peace. It was a simplistic case he solved within hours of his arrival. He was right that John hadn’t needed to accompany him. Truth be told, Sherlock simply did not want to take John away from his family longer than necessary. He was planning on spending the weekend there anyway; the place seemed peaceful and right.

Of course, John had given him the look when he told the doctor his plans. He wasn’t even surprised to see a number of plain clothed agents stalking around – Mycroft’s agent weren’t as discreet as they led themselves to believe. Maybe to anyone else, but, never Sherlock. He had always known where to look.

He was just enjoying the evening breeze when his mobile rang, irritating him. He cursed under his breath, knowing fully well that the idea of him spending time anywhere by himself was considered a threat for his own sanity by his brother and friends. He was summoned home.

And he was fully expecting to see Mycroft’s number flashing on the screen when he pulled the blasted electronic out of his pocket, but, was surprised to find it was John’s. Worry washed over him, even when he rarely allowed himself to worry.

“What’s wrong?” He answered immediately.

“There’s been an accident, you have to come back to London now,” John’s voice was anxious and he could hear Mary at the back, calming Elizabeth down.

Molly.

His thoughts travelled to Molly and he broke into a run. A car skidded, stopping him in his tracks. He noted the agent that had been following him. No words, just a nod and he jumped into the passenger’s seat.

Molly.

He knew it was irrational to quickly assume it was her. But, he knew, he knew the moment he heard his friend’s voice. If it had been his parents or even Mycroft, the call would come from his family.

No.

It was Molly.

He was sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I feel guilty?


	3. We Were Made to Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seemed that, even the universe wanted them to be together. If only it had not been too cruel in its attempt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a horrible person, OKAY?

He found her covered in blood, her shirt stained red and her cheeks damp from tears. His heart did the thing he never thought it could. It broke all over again and he just reached for her.

She saw him, her expression was beyond unreadable. Her eyes caught his extended hand and it was a moment, a small fraction of a second and she threw herself into his embrace and he felt for the first time in months, he was breathing again.

“A-Adam, he – ” She mumbled, frantic and detached.

“Shh... I know,” He whispered in her hair, loud enough only for her.

He was not counting on it; he was not counting on finding her the way she was as soon as he returned. He was not counting on seeing her in anything but her wedding dress as the happiest woman alive. He was not counting on holding her close to him as she sobbed, drenching his shirt with her tears.

\--

“There was nothing they could do,” John had explained on the way over. He had gotten the vast majority of his information through his contacts at the hospital – namely, one Mike Stamford. 

Sherlock nodded on queue, looking out the scenery, trying to appear as uninterested as possible even when his heart was pounding at the possibility of her being gone. She was not gone.

“The car came out of nowhere, he pushed her out of the way in time,” John kept talking and Sherlock balled his fingers into a fist.

She should have been happy. He wanted her to be happy; he would have traded his soul for her happiness. He would do anything for her, anything for a smile from her even when the smile would never be his ever again. He was fine with it, if she was happy, if she was smiling, if she was laughing and if she was loved entirely. He just didn’t bet on the universe messing things up and breaking her heart all over again.

“She got scrapped and bruises, mild,” John’s voice was clear, Sherlock closed his eyes and grind his teeth together. The idea of her getting hurt – even with something so small like a cut killed him.

She deserved better and he was thoroughly angry at the universe for missing the memo. Molly Hooper deserved better, she deserved the best of the best, she deserved to be happy and be loved.

\--

She looked small, curling into a ball on his bed. He had forced her into a bath with the help of Mrs Hudson earlier and she smelled like him now. He watched, ever micro movement she was to make, he was ready to sprint into action. 

“S’lock,” Her voice was low and he felt like he was just hit by a ton of bricks.

He was by her side at once, lingering over the bed, not daring to touch her, “Yes, do you need anything?”

“Thank you,” She breathed and he was frozen in his spot.

He watched her turned slowly, snuggling into the blanket, finding a comfortable spot. And she drifted to sleep, it was a dreamless sleep, he should know. Because he spent the night up, watching her, fearing if he didn’t, she would disappear.

\--

Her nose scrunched up at the sight of ‘breakfast’ presented to her on a tray. There was a decent glass of orange juice which she hoped was store bought, a jam and a nearly blackened toast.

He caught her look, “Ah, yes, cooking is not my specialty,” He admitted, placing the tray before her and revert back to standing position quickly. His hands were on his back, studying her.

“I’m fine,” She said, irritated.

“You’re not,” He shook his head, “But, you will be,”

\--

The funeral was held the day they were supposed to wed. She watched the coffin carrying the loveliest man she had ever known lowered into the ground and leaned into Mary for support. Sherlock had kept his distance; standing to John’s left, effectively putting two people between him and Molly.

\--

“Was it your doing?” Sherlock barged into his older brother’s office without notice.

Mycroft titled his head up, furrowing his eyebrows, “What?”

“Adam,” Sherlock spat the name, as much as he hated the man, he really wanted Molly to be happy and he couldn’t find any fault in the paramedic either.

“You’d have to walk me through this, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, leaning into his chair, “I’ve spent the better part of the last few months in meetings and keeping tabs on your well-being,”

Sherlock exhaled, closing his eyes. Mycroft’s confusion was answer enough. But, he thought his older brother deserved an explanation, “Adam Pullman died,”

To say that Mycroft was surprised was an understatement. His eyes were bulging, his mouth hanging open. At the same time, he felt a tinge of hope for Sherlock.

And Sherlock could read this clearly, “Don’t, she had gone through too much,”

\--

“I have a case, in Paris,” Sherlock said, putting the takeaway box to the side.

It had been almost a year since that day he found her broken. They had settled into a routine. He would get takeouts on nights she was not working and they would have dinner together. And on mornings she had to work early, he would bring her coffee. But, they are not dating. No, he was just her friend who was worrying about her and she was alright with just that.

He was not. He wanted more; yet, he knew he had to be the one who wait this time around.

She didn’t take her eyes off of the screen. The rerun of her favourite show was on and he had been largely ignored for the better part of half an hour. He was used to it, he quite like her that way, immersed in something and the way her eyes lit up – he missed it. He missed the Molly he knew.

“How long?” She asked, chewing on some rice.

“A week or so, depending on how deep this goes, I never know with Mycroft,” He admitted. 

She knew he had been taking cases from his brother, something small – not to dangerous and often (as of late), they would take him away from her for a significant amount of time. A week – that would be the longest.

“Bring me back souvenirs?” She asked jokingly. 

He liked her joking.

“I’ll take you there instead, next time,” He promised.

\--

She woke up with a start. Panic surge through her as she grabbed her mobile from the bedside table. Her hands were shaking when she pressed the number one on her speed dial.

The three rings wait was paralyzing and relieved washed over her as soon as she heard his voice.

“Molly?” Sleep was heavy in his voice, she noticed the clock, and it was four in the morning, “What’s wrong?”

“No – Nothing, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” She said quickly.

He didn’t say a word, just listening to her breath as she listened to him breathing.

\--

He came back by afternoon. What she knew was the case was closed in a rush and Sherlock had set a new record much to Mycroft’s amusement. He rushed to her, the moment his plane landed, knowing full well where she would be – the morgue.

“Hey,” He breathed, finding her pushing close one of the cooler door. 

“Hi,” She said back, relieved to find him still breathing.

“Coffee?” He asked, hands in his pocket.

“Yeah, give me a minute,” She replied, pulling the rubber glove from her hand.

\--

“Hey,” A familiar voice stopped Molly in her tracks. She turned to her side, finding a woman with a toddle on her hip.

“Kate,” She gasped the woman’s name.

“Do you have a minute?” The woman named Kate asked, wary of the possibility of Molly saying no.

Molly shrugged, glancing at the watch on her hand. It was the weekend and she was planning to spend most of the day out shopping and later actually doing her laundry seeing Sherlock was out of town, and was in no immediate need of her help for something.

“Yeah, sure,” Molly said, hesitantly. 

Kate smiled, “There’s a cafe around the corner,”

Molly nodded, following the older woman, trying to figure out what to say to her. It had been months, nearly a year since she last saw the woman – ever since the funeral. She had wanted to see Kate, of course she did. But, she was a reminder of what could have been. She saw the woman and everything about Adam came back to her.

\--

“Still taking cases?” Greg asked, sipping his coffee idly.

It was a good day, he hated being stuck behind a desk and had agreed to meet Sherlock outside the building and get a coffee from the overpriced vendor across the building. He shouldn’t be complaining, not when he wasn’t paying for the coffee.

“Yes, nothing far, I need to be in London for unforeseeable future,” Sherlock nodded, drinking his own black coffee.

“Something wrong?” Greg asked, sometimes he was good at reading Sherlock’s mood, sometimes he completely missed what the consulting detective was saying.

“No.” Sherlock said simply, “I just need to be in London,”

“Alright,” 

\--

“Lily misses you,” Kate said, looking at her youngest latching onto Molly.

Molly fought the her tears that was threatening to fall down, “I’m sorry,”

Kate shook her head quickly, “There’s nothing to be sorry about,”

“It’s my fault,” Molly replied, looking down at the little girl who was dozing off in her embrace.

“Molly, you didn’t cause the car to lose control and ran into the sidewalk,” Kate stated calmly, “Anyway, I’ve been meaning to see you, I was worried,”

“I’m alright, getting there,” Molly admitted, daring not to share her nightmares that are now started to replace Adam’s face with Sherlock’s.

“Seeing anyone new?” Kate asked, and the backtracked, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,”

Molly shook her head, “No, it’s fine and no, I haven’t been seeing anyone,”

“Not even Sherlock Holmes?” Kate asked, a smiled played on her lips.

“He’s my friend, my best friend,” Molly countered quickly, fearing what people had been saying about her and Sherlock. She valued the man’s friendship more than ever. He got her through some of the toughest time.

“It’s not wrong, you know,” Kate noted Molly horrified look, “To move on, Adam’s not coming back,”

Molly shook her head, “Everything I touch break. I either fall for a criminal mastermind or jerks and when I fall for a good guy, he’d die,”

“Sherlock Holmes is not such a bad guy,” Kate chuckled, “At least from what I read in the papers,”

A beat. Molly considered admitting her feelings towards Sherlock that was still there, just underneath a thin surface of her denial. But, Sherlock would never saw her that way and she would take what she can get. Maybe she was never meant to be happy.

“Move on, don’t feel guilty,” Kate said, as if reading Molly’s mind. 

And Molly hated that.

\--

“So, you and Molly,” Anderson said, twitching in his spot. He kept looking from the corpse to Sherlock who appeared uninterested as usual.

It wasn’t a surprise. Sherlock was doing the yard – correction, Greg Lestrade a favour by showing up at crime scenes every now and then even when his assistance was clearly unnecessary

“Are you guys dating now?” Anderson pressed, cataloguing a few things as he did, “You know, it’d really help if I can get an insight of the Sherlolly relationship –”

“Sherlolly?” Sherlock ears perked, turning his attention to Anderson.

The man flustered, “It’s just a term, a ship name, a mash up of your name and Molly Hooper’s,” 

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows together, studying the man who he was sure close to losing his mind. He had given Anderson the benefit of the doubt and even went as far as hinting the way he had survived the fall to the man, but, clearly Anderson was living in a fantasy world.

Well, a fantasy world where he, Sherlock Holmes was with Molly Hooper. And Sherlock could only wish that was true.

“Molly Hooper is a highly competent member of the St Bart’s hospital and someone whose skill I value greatly, that’s that,” Sherlock said. He noted the tinge of regret in his voice, hoping Anderson did not clock it.


	4. Handle With Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were hanging in the in-betweens. They are not dating and yet they are more than just friends. She knew in so many ways, she was in love with him and he was never surer that he was in love with her as well. But, neither made a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be longer than four-part... I can't help myself. Someone stop me...

“I hate peas,” Sherlock whined and pout. Yes, Sherlock Holmes pouted, but, only around one particular person and she were not having it – despite the humour that was apparent in her eyes.

“Don’t be a baby,” She chuckled, “Eat,”

His pout lingered, he looked at her straight, giving her the best puppy eye look he could manage. He liked it when Molly decided she wanted to cook, it didn’t matter if it was at his flat or her flat – usually hers because his kitchen was always a hazard zone. And he liked it even more when she’d let him sit and cut random assortment of vegetables, fruits or tofu, though, he was never good at it. They always came out in odd shape, but, she still smiled at him and that was a good thing. 

“No, finish your meals,” She chuckled at him. 

A smile, like that one.

And they were comfortable, they cook together, they eat together, they hang out and they go on dinners with their friends together and they have, on more than one occasion; fell asleep in each other’s arms. But, they are not a couple. At least neither of them had broached the subject, not yet. 

For her, she wasn’t ready. She was too scared to take that leap to put herself out there and even more so to admit that she was falling in love with Sherlock all over again. And there were the ‘what if’ questions. She didn’t want to ruin their friendship, sure, Sherlock had changed a lot over the course of a year, and yet, she didn’t dare to hope.

As for Sherlock, he was waiting. 

\--

“What is going on with you two?” A question that was often asked was thrown yet again. She had heard it ever so often she was had learned to avoid answering the question from most people, but, this was her friend.

She sighed, stirring her tea boringly, “Nothing, we’re friends, Meena,”

“Bullshit,” Meena replied, “You two spend all of your time together and practically live out of each other’s houses,”

“It’s not like that,” She tried to explain, her eyes dropped on Meena’s four year old baby who was sleeping soundly in the pram by the table. 

Meena closed her eyes; a sign of irritation, Molly was used to this after being friends with Meena for a long time. They had actually been friends since their first year in University and shared a room and later an apartment together during their younger years. It wasn’t until Meena found her first serious boyfriend that she wanted to move in together during their mid-twenties that they stopped living together. That relationship didn’t last, their friendship, however, did.

“I’m serious, we’re friends and that’s that,” Molly added, getting tired of the questions and speculation. It didn’t help that half of the yard thought she was Sherlock’s girlfriend and he was too oblivious to notice it.

He didn’t care, he wanted it to be true, she just didn’t know it... Yet.

“Friends, just friends, don’t sleep in each other’s bed,” Meena said sternly, as if she was explaining the difference between a romantic relationship and friendship between a man and a woman to a child.

Molly’s eyes widened, “Who told you that?”

“Ha!” Meena said triumphantly.

“I swear, it’s not like that,” 

\--

A fancy restaurant was not somewhere Molly thought she’d found herself with Sherlock. But, there she was, with his family, having dinner. And, it wasn’t even strange. Not when he had come to know his family quite well over the course of their acquaintance and later friendship. She was at that point where she was receiving weekly calls (at least) from his mother and would occasionally accompany them to a show when they are in town.

In short, she was doing everything a girlfriend would do, but, she was not.

“Molly, I’ve read your recent publication,” Sherlock’s father; Siger said suddenly as they were tucking into their main course.

She blushed, “Oh, I didn’t think you’d read it,”

“Nonsense, we have Mycroft send us everything you’ve written and have him set us one of those internet alert things,” It was Sherlock’s mother; Violet who spoke this time.

“You know very well how to set those up yourself, Mummy,” Mycroft said boringly, looking rather put-off with his salad, another attempt at a diet.

Sherlock had kept his mouth mostly shut (saved from shoving food periodically into it) throughout dinner, not even commenting on his brother’s, obviously, fail attempt on dieting. He was eating, even when he was in the middle of a case he had yet solved. Molly should know, they spent their days mostly together now, she would tell him about her day and he would tell her about his. Even when they’ve spent most of their days together, they would still have something to talk about. And if they didn’t, they would just sit in silence, reading (him) or writing (her) and enjoying each other’s company.

“No matter,” Violet Holmes stated cheerfully, “It was brilliant, you are truly amazing, Molly dear,”

“Thank you,” Molly’s cheeks reddened.

“She had always been intelligent,” Sherlock finally spoke, “I don’t know why you’re surprised,”

Siger laughed and Mycroft scoffed.

“Oh hush,” Violet grinned, “You’re just as proud of her as we are, if not more,”

\--

And when dinner ended, as it usually would, Sherlock would walk her home. Wait for her to open her door and then she would turn to face him. He would plant a soft kiss on her cheek, bidding her goodnight and watched as she disappeared behind the door. 

Some days, he would follow her and close the door behind him. But, most days, he would return to his own flat.

They were still just, friends.

\--

“Oh, Molly!” A young intern squeaked, “Have you heard?”

Molly looked up from what she was reading, staring at the intern with little interest that was unlike her. But, she was far too busy with deadlines and lectures, and surgery to care to be civil. Even Sherlock noted that she was at the edge of her patience and had treaded lightly, going as far as bribing her to calm down with sweet confectionaries and coffees.

“They were bringing Sherlock in, he was injured,” The young woman spoke.

And Molly had never moved as fast as she did in her entire life, she sprinted through the door of the lab, hastily making her way down to the accident and emergency area. It wasn’t the first time Sherlock had ever gotten injured, he had been shot, drowned, poisoned, stabbed, and various inventive way of piercing a human body with the purpose of shutting the heart, but, he had always survived. She shouldn’t worry, but, she was.

The case was supposed to be simple. He was not supposed to get hurt.

\-- 

“Do you need me to call Molly?” John asked, looking at his friend who cringed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I’m fine, and I just fell down a flight of stairs, no need to worry her,”

John chuckled. He shook his head. Never in his life had he thought he would ever be in a hospital looking out for Sherlock because he fell down a flight of stairs. Greg had managed to remain quite civil about the whole ordeal, keeping his good humour under wrap. But, John can’t fault the man, if Sherlock had been a little less of an ass, perhaps the young technician would have warned him about the loose floor.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Mycroft had made sure that picture of yours wouldn’t make the front page of the paper tomorrow, or spread over the internet,” Greg chimed in, his eyes were filled with glee.

“Shut up, Graham!’ Sherlock groaned, holding the side of his rib.

No broken bones just scrapped and bruises as well as a fractured ego. 

And he saw her. She stood with a horrified expression just a few steps away from him and he froze. He wanted to yell at his friends for informing her, for worrying her. He was perfectly alright; he was not concussed even, sheer luck.

“YOU ASSHOLE!” She hollered.

He was not counting on that.

Her eyes travelled, cataloguing his injuries as she stepped closer to him and then...

SMACK!

She started to hit him as hard as she could; he flinched, trying to grab a hold of her arms. She was small, but, she was also a force to be reckoned with. He should know, he had seen her wielding a bone saw and lifting corpses with ease.

“Molly, ow, Molly!” He tried to back away from her assault with little success. The bed was impeding his movements and she clearly had the upper hand.

“Easy case,” She shouted, “Easy case my ass!”

Their mutual friends exchanged a quick look before making a hasty retreat. No one wanted to be anywhere near Molly Hooper when she was angry. They knew it too well, she was sweet and caring, but, Sherlock was an ass.

“Molly!” Sherlock shouted back with finality.

With one swift movement, he turned her around and grabbed her so she would land into his arms. He held her close to him, ignoring the pain that was surging through his body at the impact. He didn’t care about himself anymore, he only cared that he had made her cry. Something he vowed he would never do.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered in her ear.

She was a sobbing mess, holding onto his arms as he kept his hold on her. It was an awkward position to be in, she was standing by the bed and one of his legs was dangling over while the other was on the mattress. Neither of them cared. 

“I’m sorry,” He repeated, kissing her hair with such tenderness that her heart skipped.

\--

They were quiet as they made their way into his flat. She helped him out of his belstaff with some degree of difficulty given their difference in height and he helped her with her coat without so much of a trouble. They didn’t say a word. Her face was still stained with tears that had dried up.

She moved, trying to make her way into the kitchen, deciding they needed tea – he knew that seeing she had always made tea for anything.

“Molly,” He called, grabbing her hand gently before she could move farther from him.

“I thought you’d die,” She said, her voice was so soft he would have not heard a word if he hadn’t been paying attention.

He held his breath, closing his eyes slowly. He was still causing her pain. There was nothing he could do to make it right. He seemed to make one bad decision after another and breaking her heart a little bit more every time.

“I thought you’d die,” She repeated, “And I can’t, and I just can’t –”

He pulled her to him, close enough to feel her small frame pressed against him, not close enough to hurt. 

“I don’t know what I’d do if you die,” She sobbed and he felt his breath caught in his throat.

He detached himself from her slowly, pulling back just enough to tilt her head up to look at him. She was a mystery to him, always. He can deduce her, but, always just the surface, the unimportant things. The things those were far too obvious for him. 

“I’m still here,” He told her, as if that could make it better.

What he didn’t count on was her looping her arms around his neck and pulling him down to her. Her lips brushed his ever so slightly that he lost his bearings. 

“Molly,” He breathed, struggling between the want to kiss her more and to pull away before he could do more damage.

She wasn’t thinking straight, he reasoned, even when he wanted to just kiss her and it took a great deal of out of him to pull away, lips lingering close, a breath away. 

“Shut up,” She told him, “Just shut up and kiss me,”

A beat, a moment hung in the air before he descend and claimed her lips. He didn’t want to care, whatever she wanted, be it in this moment or the next, or even for the rest of their lives; he wanted her to have it all.


	5. Just Not All At Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotion ran high between Sherlock and Molly. Suddenly, it’s more than just hearing those three little words. And when fear came into play, Molly had to make up her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BADUM TIS!
> 
> If you're still with me, THANK YOU!

She woke up with a start, blinking rapidly, trying to remember where she was. The place didn’t look anything like her bedroom, but, she knew it too well to be alarmed. It was a safe haven for her for many days just a year ago and a place where she would lay down and simply talk with one particular consulting detective. And then it hit her, she was in Sherlock’s bed, naked, saved from the white sheet that was entangled around her. And he was not there.

Her ears caught the sound of several items clinging and being severely abused, clearly coming from the kitchen followed by a loud cursing sound. She allowed herself to giggle before stopping, anxious. The memory from the night before came flooding in and she found herself blushing furiously. And she remembered it, Sherlock Holmes telling her he loved her, repeatedly as she drifted to sleep, cocooned safely in his arms.

She gathered her all her courage, pulling the sheet around her before making her way out of the bed, her feet felt cold against the floor as she tip toed to the kitchen. She found him, standing, in nothing other than a pajama pants, hanging dangerously low around his waist, vandalizing the toaster.

And she chuckled.

He turned, eyes widening to find her standing in the doorway of her kitchen, as if he was not expecting her to be there, but, glad that she was.

“Hey,” His voice was soft and comforting.

And her eyes traveled, noting the bruises and scrapped he had gotten from his accident and several more that was made by her later into the night. She blushed even more.

“I was going to make you breakfast in bed,” He explained and a small smile hung on his lips that made him looked years younger and open.

“Oh,” She gasped, “Do you need me to go back to bed?”

He laughed, “No, as you know, my cooking skill is questionable at bed. But, if you’re willing to brave it…”

She smiled, shuffling around with difficulty, finding a stool and making herself comfortable. A soft meow startled her.

“Toby!” She exclaimed, she had been too worried about Sherlock the night before (and to be frank, her mind was on solely on Sherlock) the night before to even remember she was responsible for another life.

“I got Mycroft’s men to pick him up after you’ve gone to sleep last night,” He explained, “They weren't pleased, it was entertaining to see a couple of agents looking heavily irritated by a feline,”

“Oh no,” Molly was horrified. Toby was not good with people; he would usually take time to warm up to anyone or not at all. There were very few people her cat had even deemed worthy.

“Not to worry, I think it was mainly bruised ego,” He grinned, “And I’ve fed him earlier,”

The feline seemed comfortable with Sherlock, rubbing his body on the consulting detective’s feet and purring. It shouldn’t be a surprised seeing that Sherlock had spent a great deal of time over at her flat. Yet, it left her in awe. Her cat was never good with new places either, and yet, he seemed to be at home at Baker Street.

He placed a plate in front of her gingerly, trying to read her. He knew she was prone to over analyzing and he could see the wheels in her head turning. So, he decided to just wait for her on her own time.

“Did you mean it?” She asked, running her finger on the edge of the table.

‘Ah’, he thought, ‘time for the talk,’

“When I said I love you?” He asked, but, was not really asking, it was rhetorical, “I did, I do love you,”

She blinked, “I thought feelings weren’t you area,”

He frowned, “I know I’ve made several mistakes in the past and I don’t blame you for being cautious, but, you know me,”

He wasn’t sure what he could say. Had he done enough damage that they cannot go back? He hoped not. He wanted to reach out to her and tell her repeatedly that this was not a game. And that she knew him, everything about him was an open book to her. And that if she cannot see him, no one else could ever see him, but, he didn’t.

“What do you need?” He asked at the end, echoing the words she said years before.

“Time,” She replied, “I know it’s not fair – ”

He shook his head, “Alright, time,”

\--

“Something is up with you and Sherlock, am I right?” The way the quetion was phrased sounded like an accusation, but, coming from one Mary Watson, it sounded nothing less than concern.

Molly chewed her bottom lip. It had been three days since Sherlock left with nothing but a message on her mobile. She knew it was his way of giving her the time and space she needed, but, she was still angry at him. He was not fully recovered from his injuries and taking another case to God knows have bad idea written all over it. And she cannot help but worry.  
She sighed, Mary’s eyes were on her and she knew she cannot lie quick enough or good enough to lie to the woman. Mary had a knack of knowing when someone was lying to her. Even Sherlock couldn’t lie to her and frankly, Molly found that rather scary.

“We slept together,” She blurted.

“Come again?” Mary was shocked, her eyes widened.

Molly closed her eyes, bracing for the lecture she knew would eventually come from someone. There was none. No lecture, just silent hanging in the air and when she opened her eyes, she found Mary staring at her intently.

“Sherlock and I, we had sex,” She said it as bluntly as it was possible without making it sounded dramatic or comical.

“When did this happen?” Another question came.

“Three days ago,” Molly replied and Mary leaned back into her chair.

There was another pregnant pause in the conversation, it wasn’t even long. But, it felt a lot longer for Molly. She didn’t want Mary to judge her, even when she knew for a fact Mary was not that sort of person and was least likely to do just that.

“Okay,” Molly said calmly and it sounded like the calm before the storm to Molly, “Is that why he was in such a rush to leave the country? I swear to God, if this is Sherlock running from his feelings, I will put another bullet in him,”

“No!” Molly said quickly, louder than she had meant to, “It’s not like that... God!”

There were not secrets between them anymore. Sherlock didn’t like keeping secrets from Molly and even more so the past year they had became closer. There was a lot Molly had learned about Mary and frankly, most of it was hard for Molly to process. But, seeing how Mary was, they quickly became better friends and she felt like she owed Mary an explanation.

“”I asked him for some time, I don’t know how to do this,” She admitted.

“This, what?” Mary asked, confused as to what was going on between her two friends. It was an endless dance between them.

“He’s Sherlock,” Molly said, as if it made perfect sense.

“So?” Mary said, “You know him,”

A sigh, “That’s it, I don’t think I know him, not anymore,”

There was a soft look on Mary’s face as she reached out for Molly’s hand, patting it lightly, “Molly, you know Sherlock better than anyone ever will, you have to know that,”

“I’m scared,” Molly confessed.

“Of what?” Mary pulled back.

“I fall for all the wrong men, those who couldn’t accept me for who I am, sociopaths, psychopaths and those who died too young,” Molly said softly, “And we know Sherlock accepted me for me and no matter what he said, he’s not a sociopath or a psychopath,”

Mary nodded, finally understanding it, “You’re afraid he’d die too,”

“I’ve already lost Adam and I just can’t...” Molly threw her gaze across the street, “The world would be a poorer place without Sherlock Holmes,”

“Molly, believe me when I say that you and Sherlock would be just fine,” Mary smiled, “Do you think any of us would ever allow him get hurt?”

“I’m bad luck,” Molly said sourly.

“There’s no such thing,”

\--

Day five and it didn’t get any better. In fact, it got worse as Molly found herself moping around, watching reruns of cheesy romantic comedies after her shifts end. She even kept her phone close to her, waiting for a call that never came. She felt sick at the pit of her stomach when thoughts of Sherlock’s demise crossed her mind and spent numerous hours pacing and cleaning her flat until it was spotless to take her mind off of the consulting detective.

Why was it so hard for her to say she loved him back? Especially when Sherlock was so ready to say it to her. It was the bit she had left out when she talked to Mary. She didn’t want to share everything about her and Sherlock. Some, some of them, she wanted to keep as a secret. It was like their own moments where only they exist and she wanted to keep it that way. Their little secret.

But, she was losing her mind. Work-wise, she was doing fine. She hadn’t slipped up yet, despite the endless distraction. Even when she was in the middle of an experiment, she would check her phone ever so often. She just wanted to hear from him, to know that he was alright and she was just being silly and was worrying for nothing.

\--

And as another day passed, Molly was losing her patience. She was angry at everyone and had snapped at even her boss. Luckily for her, Mike had always been mild mannered and quite calm, and could sense something was up. She was given the rest of the day off plus a week’s vacation.

“Go somewhere, anywhere, clear your mind,” Mike had said. He didn’t even ask what was wrong, something of which, Molly appreciated.

“I can’t just leave like that,” She tried to protest, but knew she would never win.

“We’ll manage,”

\--

Only, she didn’t have anywhere to go. Well, there was a dozen of travel destination, but, there was always something about traveling alone that made Molly sad. Unfortunately for her, none of her friends could accompany her. They were all busy with their family and it was to be expected. They were at the age where they have started to build a family or have a family of their own. They cannot just take off.

Finally, on a Thursday, she snapped.

“Mycroft!” She shouted in the middle of her living room, “I know you’re listening because we both know how much over an over-protective ass Sherlock can be and he would not leave me without you overseeing my security. So, tell me where he is right now or get him to call me or so help me God, I will march into parliament and cause a damn riot!”

Her mobile rang and flashed, indicating an incoming message.

\--

He took a case a twelve hours flight away to give her the time she needed. It might seemed like he was sulking with her decision and maybe some part of him was. But, he wanted to try his best to respect her decision and gave her the time, not to mention space she needed in order to sort her feelings. All those years she was certain of him while he wasn’t even close to figuring out how he felt about her, he knew he owed her that much. He owed her the time to let her come to terms with her own conflicted heart. And he didn’t want to be arrogant enough to believe that he was entitled to any corner of it. He could only wish she would give him the chance.

They didn’t talk beyond that day. They had eaten in silence and she had kissed him goodbye. He left hours later after a call from his brother, leaving her only a short voicemail on her mobile.

He had expected her to be angry or at least hurt. There was nothing but radio silence.

And he dreaded coming home. He dreaded the long walk through the arrival hall with people chatting merrily around him, all looking forward to seeing the person they love and all having someone waiting for them, if not at the arrival hall, at home.


	6. Hope Guides Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things never go as planned. At least, it never seemed to when you’re Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes. But, sometimes unplanned things revealed something you’ve missed all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a different part for this and I didn’t like it. I don’t know why, it just felt like it was not quite finished. So, I scrapped that page… And wrote this, something I can make peace with.

Sherlock blinked, adjusting to the dimmed light in a darkened room. He had been abducted; it didn’t take a genius to figure out that much. He tried to move only to realize he was bound to a chair, the creaking sound emitting from it told him that it was made of wood and had aged rather poorly. And the smell, he could smell something metallic, old rustic smell of metal that was withering away. He knew instantly it was none of Mycroft’s trick. His brother was far more frivolous and would have tried to snatch from a lower risk place; an airport would have been a bad choice for Mycroft.

He wasn’t sure how he was taken either. One moment he was fixing his bag, walking through the busy Heathrow Airport and the next he woke in the middle of the old room. Wait – that was not it. He wrecked his brain, remembering to stop for an elderly, something of which he had never done often in the past but had begun to do often, obviously under Molly’s influence, still, it was not her fault for trying to turn him into a decent a human being. There was a jolt. A surge of electricity coursing through his body and everything turned black.

“Ah, you’re awake,” A sharp familiar voice and Sherlock stiffened.

\--

Her eyes darted to the arrival gate once again; she had only arrived minutes after the list of arrival updated to indicate the arrival of the flight she was waiting for changed. Her heart was pounding; she clamped her hands together to calm her nerves. She was nervous, and even that would be an understatement if said aloud. She had spent most of the night practicing what she would say to him, from something as friendly as saying ‘welcome back’ to jumping right into his arms the moment she saw him.

Yet, the moment didn’t come. She was getting anxious. Her eyes travelled back to the board, new announcement of arrivals filled the board as the crowd at the arrival gate thinned. There was no sign of Sherlock Holmes. She waited for another thirty minutes before she started to panicked. He cannot possibly take that long even if he had stopped at the loo. 

She made a hasty move; her step was quick, rushing towards the information counter. Worries surged with each step she took. Sherlock was not one to miss anything, even a flight, unless if there was a case rated higher than a seven. Even so, if Sherlock had never made it on the flight, Mycroft would have told her – texted her. But, there was nothing, not a peep.

“Hi, I was wondering if you could tell me if Sherlock Holmes ever made it onto the flight…” Molly rambled quickly as soon as she got in front of the staff sitting behind the counter, nearly shocking the poor lad off of his seat.

“I –“ He stammered, “I’m sorry madam, but, we cannot reveal any passenger information,”

“It’s fine, I’m his…” Molly said quickly, only to stop. Realizing she was in no position to coerced or even guilt tripped the man behind the counter. Who was she to Sherlock? They hadn’t talked about that bit. Is she his lover? His one night stand? His pathologist? What was she? She knew enough that they were friends. But, using friendship to get such information felt a little short even in her head.

“Nevermind,” She said quickly, turning with a sigh and her worries building.

She pulled her bag off of her shoulder in a hurry, trying to find her mobile. Her fingers were quick on the screen, scrolling down to find the latest message from an unknown number. With a little luck, the number was not listed as private. She quickly swiped over the number and placed the phone to her ear, waiting impatiently for the owner of the number to answer her call.

“He’s not here,” She said quickly at the sound of the line connecting, “I waited for thirty minutes and he’s not here,”

The line was silent for a moment and Molly was beginning to think she was going to have to bend hell over to find out where Sherlock was when a stern voice replied.

“I’ll look into it, Miss Hooper,” And added, in his usual cold tone, “A car is waiting for you outside to take you back to Baker Street,”

She was about to protest, argued that she would be better off at her own flat as she wait for her call, but, Mycroft ended the call abruptly that she did not get the chance. Begrudgingly, she stalked out of the airport to a long line of cars, awaiting their passenger when she spotted a familiar face. She had seen the woman before, just in passing and always a step behind Mycroft.

“Miss Hooper,” She said in a professional tone that caught interest of several bystanders.

Molly didn’t wait; she practically jumped into the car as she wanted to avoid the questioning gaze. Her heart started to race again as the woman slide into the car beside her and gave a light tap on the barrier between the backseat and the front seats. 

The ride was quiet, neither Molly nor her companion cared to start a conversation. Molly was too busy worrying of and for Sherlock while the woman was tapping wildly on her mobile. Even though curious, Molly didn’t ask, knowing she would never get an answer from the woman. She never did, from any of the few Mycroft’s staffs she had encountered.

And she almost jumped when the woman finally spoke.

“We’re here,” Just two short words, straight to the point.

“I – Uh, thanks,” Molly mumbled, letting herself out of the car.

She didn’t look back, but, fully aware that the car was still present when she turned her key and pushed into Baker Street. She wondered what would be reported back to Mycroft, still, she doubted the man didn’t already know Sherlock had given her key to Baker Street months ago seeing she had spent just as much time there as her own flat, and she, in turn, had given him a key to her flat. It didn’t mean anything, it was simply – I didn’t want you to stand in the cold waiting for me.

\--

“I see they let you out,” Sherlock said with a hint of amusement.

He should be concerned, he really should. After all, a past, his past had come to haunt him. Yet, he was not at all worried. He was so sure he would get out of the situation, he was sure he would go home. And he was sure he would see her again, he didn’t want things to end where they did. Not to mention, he was certain that by now, Mycroft would have been alerted by his men of his disappearance. Even though most of the time Sherlock had resented the protection detail Mycroft had tailing him, right now, was not one of those time.

“You should know prison could never hold me that long,” The man said, equally amused. His English was thick witch accent. 

Sherlock sighed, shaking his head, “I should have known that you’d have all your bases covered, I was in a hurry that day,”

“I know,” The man said with a fake pout, “You left without even saying goodbye,”

“So, what is it that you want?” Sherlock said, there was a challenge in his question, “To kill me?”

“For starters,” The owner of the voice finally came into full view as he stepped into the light, “I would very much like to see you suffer first, you took everything away from me, Mr Holmes,”

Sherlock chuckled, noting faint sound of movements around him. He counted at least another three assailant was in the room with them. Yet, in the darkness, he could not confirm his theory. He remained still, knowing full well he would need to play for time right now if he was to give Mycroft a shred of chance of finding him alive. And knowing Mycroft, he would, even with their rocky relationships; his brother had never let him down.

“I didn’t take anything away from you, Gaspard,” Sherlock used the man’s name for the first time and the sound of three pairs of boots grew louder.

A hiss stopped them.

And a smile formed on Sherlock’s lips as he confirmed the number of people in the room, “So, there are four of you to guard just one of me?”

He had said it more to, hopefully, Mycroft’s benefit than his own. If he was drugged and taken to a secluded area, there were a number of places he could be that was within desirable distance of the airport and abandoned. Of course the place had to be abandoned, it was a given. It had to have easy access to roads as well, not necessarily a main road, but, somewhere with well-kept road. And provision, they would need to eat if they had spent a few days scouting and making sure the place was secured.

And knocking him unconscious, he had to give it to them, it was a good plan. It left him with one less clue to work with. How long was the drive from the airport? But, he was only stunned; they must have drugged him as well to keep him unconscious. So, an hour or perhaps two. 

“Oh, I did a bit of research about you, Mr Holmes,” Gaspard said, walking around in circle around Sherlock.

His tone didn’t sit well with Sherlock. He wondered how many of Mycroft’s men were bribed in order to get him here. Mycroft rarely make any mistakes, if at all. And there were the staffs at the airport; even the British Government cannot possibly screen them all.

“You know about Mycroft,” Sherlock said, a boring tone to hide his worries, “Well, at this point I think the whole world knows we’re related,”

“It was hard, I mean, his reach was vast,” Gaspard said, there was a hint of admiration in his tone.

Of course, Sherlock thought privately.

“Took me months to find the weak link, I didn’t realize your brother had a soft spot, your third cousin, once removed or something,” He was proud, Gaspard was proud of his findings.

Still, Sherlock was sure Mycroft was well aware of it, the fact that Peter was the leak. It wasn’t hard; the man had been trouble ever since he was very young. Not to say that Sherlock didn’t have his fair share of troubles, but, Peter had made it an art. It was probably a good thing they didn’t share a last name or Mycroft would have been tempted to execute the man. Sherlock knew all too well, Mycroft’s affection, even by extension, only extend so long.

“You think Mycroft didn’t know,” Sherlock said easily, “By now he would have figured out I am missing, mobilized a team, narrowed down his suspect pool and quite possibly getting into a helicopter,”

Gaspard was livid and Sherlock anticipated his next move, prepared for the blow that landed on his cheek. The man really could punch; he had barely dodged a few of his punches when he tried to apprehend the man in France. Ex-military man turned human trafficker, Mycroft had a certain level of personal disdain towards those kinds of men, which was why he had asked Sherlock the favour in the first place.

“You still believe your brother would come for you?” Gaspard yelled, “You fool!”

“Oh no, I don’t believe,” Sherlock answered, spitting out blood to his side, the skin inside his mouth broke when it collided with his teeth, “I know. You see, between you and me, Mycroft had always been the smartest brother, don’t tell him I said that though, his ego, it would be unbearable,”

There was concern in the air, a hushed exchange of words in French; he picked up a few words. Bluffing, lying, Mycroft. If only they knew how Mycroft could track him even if he was deep in the jungle in Indonesia, they would be terrified. 

“Plus, Mummy would be terribly crossed if he doesn’t find me before, well, my death,” Sherlock chuckled, thinking at how Mycroft still cower at their mother’s demands. Then again, so does him. Violet Holmes was a force to be reckoned with, “We really don’t like –”

A thud followed by another and another and then silence. Gaspard was frantic and then, he fell without so much of a yelp. Sherlock’s lips turned upwards into a satisfied smile.

“What took you so long?” He said to the dark room, knowing full well what to expect. He heard a quick shuffle of men, no less than four leaving the room.

“So, I’m the smarter brother, eh?” Mycroft’s voice was thick with amusement.

“Shut up,” Sherlock said, failing to even be crossed with Mycroft’s usual arrogance, “And get me out of this,”

Sherlock knew he would never hear the end of Mycroft gloating, but, for the first time in his life – he really couldn’t care less. Maybe because he realized that, for the first time, Mycroft had always come to save him, even when he thought he didn’t need it – Mycroft was there.

“Oh, Miss Hooper is waiting for you,” Mycroft said as he untie the rope, “At Baker Street,”

And Sherlock turned so fast he nearly fell over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit, this chapter is for Mycroft, I felt like I didn't give him enough brotherly love.


	7. We Are Gathered Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly understood that sometimes, you just have to take that leap of faith. And maybe, just maybe, happiness was always hers to begin with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is THE END.
> 
> For those who have stayed with me from the beginning, reading, leaving kudos and comments -- THANK YOU! I hope this ending does not disappoint you too much. I am trying to kind of end it on a simpler note... I think...
> 
> Again, THANK YOU for sticking with me :D

“Sherlock,” Mycroft called, he was standing over by the car, holding onto the open door.

Sherlock stopped dead at the front door of Baker Street, anxious to see the person he wanted to see most in the world. It had been too long, not seeing her, not talking to her and not being near her. He wanted more than anything to just pull her to him, engulfing her into his embrace even if she was to push him away shortly after. He missed her; he knew that more than anything. He had made peace of his want, his need of her. 

“I know,” He said to Mycroft, “Caring is not an advantage, but –”

“It’s Molly Hooper,” Mycroft finished with an understanding nod, “She’s a good woman, intelligent, don’t break her heart,”

If Sherlock was shocked with his brother’s declaration, it didn’t show on his face. He had simply nodded to Mycroft and turned his back to push open the heavy door into the flat. It was more than just that, Molly had received Mycroft’s approval, something he had rarely given. It must have been something impressive, something she did that had melt away the ice in Mycroft’s heart. Sherlock clearly didn’t’ miss the fondness in Mycroft’s tone when he spoke of Molly and in his warnings.

Of course, he never needed his older brother’s approval before. But, as Sherlock climbed the stairs up to his flat and trying not to wake Mrs Hudson, he realized he was glad he had it. At least for the woman he chose to spend his life with, Mycroft approved of her. The woman he chose to spend his life with – he realized that during his time away, the longest week of his life. It was her and just her. And this, the ever growing love that had taken over his senses, he wanted more of it. It was not enough to just keep her near, he wanted to have all of her days from thereon forward and he was willing to convince her that he was worthy of her affection.

And when he saw her, lying across the sofa, face still contorted with worry even in her slumber, his heart lurched into his throat. He, clearly, never deserved her. But, it was no longer about him. It was about her. It was what she wanted and what she deserved. She wanted him and she deserved the best. By some chance or miracle, he got that shot to prove to her that he could give her the world only if she asked him to. And he didn’t have to worry he would break her or hurt her, she knew him too well. All too well.

“Molly,” He said as he kneeled by the couch, careful not to touch her yet.

She stirred, blinking sleep away and he watched as recognition filled her gaze. Recognition and something he cannot quite placed. Relieved? He was not certain. And suddenly, she was in his arms. Her hold was tight around his body and him, even though shocked, reciprocate without any hesitation. He had never felt like he ever belonged before, but, now, it felt like he was finally home.

They stayed that way, completely still for a few moments before she spoke and her voice was heavy with sleep. 

“You scare me,” It was a whisper.

He pulled her even closer, molding their bodies together until the only thing that separated them was the thin layer of clothing they were wearing. He hated worrying her. He hated seeing her terrified expression. If only he still had the option to let her go. Even if he was fooling himself the way he did the year before. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to see those looks in her eyes.

“I know,” He replied instead, eradicating any thoughts of letting her go, “I’m sorry,”

Molly was quiet; still, he could almost hear her thoughts. It was as if she was calculating and for the first time, Sherlock found himself praying to a God that he had never believed in. He knew, if her choice was to walk away, he would never be able to survive it. Yet, he would let her. He had once.

“I just –” She started only to stop, “I can’t ask for you to stop, can’t I?”

He knew exactly what she meant. It was his constant chase of the next high, his need to solve the puzzles, his want to figure every mystery, all of it. However, she was wrong; he would have given anything up for her. If she would just ask him, he would even gladly give his own life away.

She pulled away, ever so slightly. Her fingers started to smooth his dark curls. She stared at him as if she could read him like an open book – she could. She had always been able to see him when no one else could. She was the very reason why he wanted to hold on to everything, even if it was a mundane job or a house in the suburb.

He moved, slowly, taking her hand into his and bringing it to his lips. He planted a soft kiss onto her palm, “I do have a degree in Chemistry, and I believe I’d be able to find a decent job with it,”

Shocked was apparent on Molly’s face, “You’re going to quit consulting?”

He nodded, “If you want me to,” lacing his fingers with her absentmindedly, “Whatever you want, Molly Hooper. I want to give you everything,”

His declaration was met with a brief silence. Molly was searching; her eyes were still fixed on his. He understood how he must have shocked her. In under a month, he had acted more than he ever did in all the years he had known her. And he didn’t mean simply giving into pleasures of which he felt holding her close or bringing her to the brink of unmatchable bliss the way she did him.

“It would be very boring,” She said with a sigh, “You wouldn’t last a week,”

“I’d take it, if it meant having you in my life,” He was serious, never more so in his life.

He was not going to do it halfway. No more games, no more denying himself the most important person in his heart. He had done himself a great disservice for many years and he had every intention to indulge. He doubted very much life with her would ever be boring, even if it meant settling for a nine-to-five job and marking term papers.

And realization dawned upon Molly at last, all her doubts eradicated. He really did love her. In some ways, the idea of Sherlock Holmes being in love with her was terrifying. It felt as if she would always come short. Like she would never love him as much as he would, though, others would believe it would be quite the opposite.

“You really do love me, don’t you?” She marveled at the knowledge.

“Yes,” He answered without missing a beat, “Thought I doubt it would be anything more than you deserve,”

Tears started to fill Molly’s eyes; the thought of being happy was something she had slowly accepted would never happen to her. She came pretty close, so close and yet even then she was merely content. Her happiness was always with the man before her, regardless of how many times she had fooled herself into believing she could be without him.

“Tears, Molly?” Sherlock chuckled, brushing away her tears with his thumbs, “I was expecting more of your violent streak,”

She gasped, hitting him squared on the chest. He gasped, still recovering from being tasered and drugged. Though, he doesn’t believe he had ever felt more alive.

“I’m sorry!” Molly apologized quickly; terrified she had done further damage, “Are you hurt?”

He smiled, “I was tasered and drugged, just another day at the office,”

The words that fell out of Molly’s mouth afterward were not to be repeated in public. She was crossed and had, in every sense informed Sherlock of her irritation. He, to his benefit, did very well not to aggravate her further and simply listened. It was not until they were both exhausted and Molly ran out of curse words to use (and Sherlock didn’t know she knew) did they retire to their bedroom.

But, of course, he would cross her again in the morning when she found he had moved all her belongings to Baker Street in the dead of the night – without asking her first. It was probably a good thing for Sherlock Holmes that Molly Hooper was hopelessly in love with him and resigned to the fact she cannot stay mad at him forever. She couldn’t.

\--

There was something beautiful about the season. With the leaves turning its colour and the weather getting colder as winter was approaching fast on the fall’s heel. It was probably, not one of Molly Hooper’s favourite seasons. Yet, it didn’t mean she could not appreciate it and yes, it did not mean she wouldn’t imagine herself dressed in white, walking towards the love of her life that was waiting for her at the end of the altar.

Only she wouldn’t have to be imagining it if her groom was actually on time.

“They’re on their way,” Mary said, fussing about, fluffing every cushion in the bridal room. She was even more nervous than the bride herself that people would think she was the one getting married if Molly had not been wearing her dress.

“Did they solve the case at least?” Molly asked, fidgeting, she was not a veil girl. But, her mum had insisted.

Mary stopped pacing, taking a seat next to Molly, “They probably did, but, that won’t stop me from killing Mycroft today,”

Molly started to laugh. Amused at how crossed Mary was, even more so than she was. In truth, Molly had quite expected to deal with such a thing. One cannot pledge to love and spend the rest of one’s life with the world’s only consulting detective without expecting him to be unavailable every now and then. Given the circumstances, she was just glad that Sherlock had made it back to British soil on the right day and almost the right hour. 

“I don’t think Violet or Siger would appreciate you killing their eldest son, Mary,” Molly said in great humour.

“Well dear, I think at this point, Violet is ready to kill Mycroft herself,” Both women were on their feet at once. Molly beamed at the older man who walked up to her, talking both of her hands in his, “I do believe it is only because little Miss Watson that she managed to keep her irritation in check,”

“Siger,” Molly breathed the man’s name, “I’m sorry about Mary, she’s very emotional,”

“Well, a pregnant woman usually is,” Siger Holmes, Sherlock’s father said in amusement.

“I am growing another human being, I do believe I have a right to be slightly crossed that my husband and his best friend had to be flown to God knows which country for two weeks as a favour to Mycroft,” Mary replied, though pleasant, it was clear she was unhappy.

“I am not saying you’re wrong, my dear,” Siger replied, not taking any offense, “I am just here to let you know the car should be arriving in fifteen minutes or so, you best get ready,”

Molly nodded, relieved to hear that Sherlock was fine. Though, still concerned on whether or not he was injured. Over the past few months, Sherlock had not only managed to get kidnapped (the event which led her to finally accept him and move to Baker Street permanently), shot, drowned and beaten. It was a wonder how the man was even still alive. There had been a number of times he had returned home to Baker Street looking worse for wear and Molly frightened of the possibility of him dying.

Still. She had not stopped him. She couldn’t. Sherlock was a brilliant man and he, at his finest could save the world and everyone in it. She would rather not stop him from doing what he loved. As long as he was to return, she would take it. Be it battered and bruised, she would take it. 

“Alright,” Molly exhaled, smoothing her dress as she did, “Mary, would you mind fetching my mother?”

Mary, for the first time today, smiled brightly, “Gladly,”

\--

There was, of course, no visible sign of trauma. Yet, visible did not mean there was not. Still, Molly was simply glad Sherlock (and John) managed it back alive. Her breath caught in her throat when Sherlock smiled goofily at her, prompting her to smile back. 

“I love you,” He mouthed and her smile broadened.

“I love you too, git,” She mouthed back.

“You look beautiful by the way,” Sherlock kept the hushed conversation going, “I thought you hated veils,”

“I do, but you do not cross Patricia Hooper,” Molly replied, still only mouthing the words, rolling her eyes, “I only managed to get the one that’s not covering my face,”

“I did suggest we eloped,” He smirked.

A lough cough finally halted the pair’s conversation. Both Molly and Sherlock turned to the source of sound, finding an amused priest.

“We do not have all day, Mr Holmes,” His voice was thick with warning, but, the amusement in his eyes said otherwise.

Yet, Sherlock would rather not take his chances, “Sorry Father, let’s get this moving,” He apologized quickly. The sooner they got over with the ceremony, the sooner he could spend the rest of his life with Molly. Not that he had not devoted his life to her for the past six months as her partner and the years before that as her friend.

John, who was standing next to Sherlock coughed, attempted to hide a chuckle. The guests, however, did not share John’s awkward attempt. Several started to laugh at the groom’s eagerness. Molly did her best not to look horrified by her husband-to-be’s behaviour.

It was a good thing the priest found it amusing, chuckling before, finally, proceeding with the ceremony, “Alright, dearly beloved. We are gathered here...”


End file.
